Navarra's Devotion
by Ray Venn Hakubi
Summary: One-shot, Alternate Universe Forgotten Realms.


Disclaimers: Dungeons and Dragon, Forgotten Realms, Shar, and Loviatar, and possibly Acheron are all property of HASBRO and Wizards of the Coast. Azure and Arelegoth Lerethunt are the intellectual property of David Tapanes.

This is a Paragraph Break. It seperates the disclaimer from the story.

Navarra knelt in the centre of the pentacle, knees apart, and sitting on her ankles. Her forearms lay on her thighs, palms upwards, and her wings held still, up and vertical. Her head was bowed, and her eyes closed, as she meditated, facing the open gap between two of the Pentacle's points.

Writhing patterns of pure Shadowstuff traced across her bare skin, as the Arcane Devotee rose, slowly, from her kneel. A cruel smile graced her perfect lips, and she opened her eyes, the colour of a forest in full summer. A dark cruelty lay coiled in those orbs, and she viewed the scene before her.

The small altar-room was dark, but her Shadow-enhanced vision allowed her to see as though it were day. A thick candle was placed at each point of the Pentacle, and nestled between the points she faced lay the altar itself. Stretched upon it was a man who ordinarily would not fear death. A Petitioner of Acheron, the man was effectively immortal... but they were not on Acheron. Neither were they in Azure, the Demiplane created by Arelegoth in his arrogance. '_and for that he will be rewarded..._'. They were _Between_ those places, in the Shadows of reality.

Navarra's smile remained on her cruelly curved lips, as she took the dagger at her feet, and unsheathed it with a swift tug in front of her chest.

"Who has been brought before us?" She asked the darkness.

"A man who dares defile." Replied the hidden chorus, and the bound, naked human on the altar struggled against the bonds that held him there.

"Does he fear Death?" Navarra asked.

"He does fear Death by Her hand." Came the reply.

"Does he fear Pain?" The next part of the ritual.

"He does fear Pain at Her hands." The reply was ritual, but still slightly surprising. The man worshipped Loviatar, but the truth of the statement was clear on his face.

He was not gagged. His fear did enough to silence him. Even unclothed as she was, Navarra felt the heat in the room, the oppressive closeness the ritual drew around itself.

"Has he felt Loss?"

"He has felt Loss. The Loss of his people."

"Is he Worthy as our Sacrifice?"

"He is not Worthy, but he shall Suffice."

"Then let Her judge him!" Navarra raised her arms to the invisible sky in supplication. The inky Shadow tendrils licked and flickered across her forearms, as though trying to rise with them. The dagger and sheath she held in her upturned hands.

"Our Dark Mistress!" Navarra called.

"Our Dark Mistress!" The chorus replied.

"Our Dark Mistress! Bless us with your Strength, and Accept this Sacrifice!" Navarra turned the blackened dagger, crafted of Steel and transmuted to pure Obsidian, and it caught the non-light of the Shadowplace, scattering it like a prism would Light.

"Our Dark Mistress! Show us a sign that we have your blessing!" The Feyling girl half-turned, moving her foot through forty five degrees, and the ray of lightlessness shone around the room, impossibly illuminating the eight supplicants kneeling around the circle.

"Our Dark Mistress! WE GIVE THIS TO YOU IN HONOUR OF OUR BARGAIN!" She completed the turn, and stepped towards the sacrifice.

"Our Dark Mistress! WE DO THIS AS A SIGN OF OUR DUTIFUL SERVITUDE!"

"Our Dark Mistress!"

"Our Dark Mistress!"

"Our Dark Mistress!"

Each of the Acolytes forming the Circle raised their voice in turn.

"Our Dark Mistress!"

"Our Dark Mistress!"

"Our Dark Mistress!"

The individual chants merged, becoming a single, repeating tone.

"Our Dark Mistress! Our Dark Mistress! Our Dark Mistress! Our Dark Mistress! Our Dark Mistress!"

"In Your HONOUR!" Navarra took the blade over her head, and plunged it into the sacrifice's chest, cutting out his heart. She held the bloody prize above her head, and the sanguine essence dripped and flowed down her arm, mingling with the tendrils of Shadow that yet remained. A couple of drops fell to splash onto her pale chest, and more joined the crimson pentacle on the floor. The shadow-patterns overcame the rivulets of blood, absorbing them, and then transferred their attentions to the heart itself, devouring the organ in a few clean, black-pulsed seconds.

And in the darkness, Navarra and her eight acolytes danced in praise of their Dark Mistress.


End file.
